FORGOTTEN AMERICA: ROUTE 66 TUCUMCARI, SANTA ROSA AND EDGEWOOD
“This train WILL stop at Tucumcari!”
-Lee Van Cleef (Col. Douglas
Mortimer, For a Few Dollars More)
Ah, but
the train could not stop at Tucumcari in For a Few Dollars
More. In the 1870s, when Sergio Leone’s Western takes place, Tucumcari was known
only as a mountain that towered over the New Mexican valley upon which the city
that would take its name in 1908 would be built. Tucumcari Mountain, once the
pride of Comanche territory, now presides over a city of lights. But the lights
are almost exclusively the lights of a Route 66 staple, the iconic motels that
have greeted travelers with dazzling neon for decades.
Because
of their limited capacity, I was expecting some difficulty in finding vacancy
in these motels during the Mother Road’s centennial. The Wigwam Motel in
Holbrook, Arizona, for instance, had already been filled up by April when I
began booking my stays so I was fortunate to find a room in the delightfully
eccentric Motel Safari. Opening in 1959, this kitschy treasure has made a point
to remain true to its roots as a Beat Generation stop-over even while adding
modern appliances. In this sense, Motel Safari is not only classic Route 66 but
also characteristic of Tucumcari, a city glowing with motels enshrining the
golden age of road travel.
Despite
its name, Motel Safari was neither fully a jungle-themed joint from the
generation that defined popular adventure with shows like Daktari nor an
inspiration from the era’s “Surfin’ Safari”. Instead, it’s a bit of both with
solid golden oldies on the soundtrack welcoming you the moment you enter your
room and the neon sign of a camel carrying a turbaned porter on its back. In
two strokes the period is encapsulated, its music and its idea of exoticism
brought home.
Of
course, Tucumcari is lined with motels, among the most charming is the historic
Blue Swallow. While Motel Safari is a triumph of Googie design, the older Blue
Swallow (built in 1939) reflects a style of Americana that defies easy timeline
placing. It’s the America that has always existed on Route 66, if only in our
collective dreams.
The
Blue Swallow Motel has seen many owners in its lifetime, a fact which has made
it thrive all these years while so many of its contemporaries have fallen into
ruin. By a stroke of good luck, while touring the strip of motels at night, I
had the pleasure of meeting the current owner, Robert Federico, who bought the
establishment in 2020. A Connecticut man, Federico seemed excited to talk to a
fellow New Englander, telling me of his story and what drove him to Tucumcari
and how strange it was at first to live in a place where the closest Wal-Mart
was almost 60 miles away. But he fell in love with Tucumcari’s unique blend of
isolation but sufficient convenience.
Although
I would miss out on spending a night at the Wigwam Motel, which, by the way,
has rooms shaped like tepees rather than wigwams, when I arrived days later in
Holbrook, I did get a chance to visit TeePee Curious before I left Tucumcari in
the morning. Though obviously a kitschy rendition of one in the charming way
that only Route 66 makes possible, this landmark is at least accurately shaped
like a tepee and offers a variety of candy, knick-knacks, and souvenirs inside.
There
are some places that surprise you with their agreeability. Such was the case
with my next stop in New Mexico and I was surprised with how much I genuinely
liked Santa Rosa, home of one of Route 66’s most unique attractions, the Blue
Hole. This artesian well is a favorite for scuba divers but its outdoor
swimming pool aesthetic hides a challenging underwater system of caves and
boulders that can and have proven deadly to inexperienced divers. Since 1976,
in fact, after a recovery expedition by the State Police, the caverns were
sealed off to prevent unwitting divers from stumbling into their tight and
blinding passages. As I arrived a team of divers were making their way back up
to the surface while families were playing at the waterfall downstream.
Next, I
refilled and stocked up at a Sinclair gas station, which has become the
unofficial gas station of Route 66 with its recognizable dinosaur mascot. In
large part because of its association with America’s Highway, Sinclair Oil
Company and its brontosaurus mascot have become emblems of the American road
trip, so much so that Pixar Animation Studios chose the green dino as the best
possible icon for the prototypical gas company (Dinoco) created for its films.
I
almost missed my last stop in Santa Rosa and, when I found it, it was not
without a touch of sadness. The Sun ‘n Sand Motel and Restaurant survived the
bypassing of Route 66 and, though its vitality waned since it opened in the
1950s, it continued to serve guests into the 21st century. By 2014,
however, the once popular motel, had closed and in the ensuing decade began its
decent to structural ruin. Nonetheless, its iconic golden sign continued to
attract tourists and nostalgic visitors. When my GPS told me I had passed it, I
became rather confused, being certain such a landmark could not be missed.
Backing
up, the sad truth became apparent to me. The crown had been toppled. In a storm
over a year ago, the giant sign, once a towering symbol of the comforts of a
friendly motel was lying on the ground, enshrined in light bulbs, many of them
cracked. Its bright desert colors, emulating the artistry of the southwest
dulled by neglect and exposure to the elements. Rust had formed around the
edges and the promise of Sun n’ Sand seemed tragically ironic. Time will tell
if Sun n’ Sand will be saved by investors and restoration. In the meantime,
however, this fallen post is a somber reminder of what Route 66 was, of what
was lost and, in a way, will always be what drives us to the Mother Road.
Making
my way to Moriarty I was glad to find a towering landmark that has survived. Once
topping the El Comedor de Anayas restaurant, the Roto-Sphere, a towering spike
topped by a large atom-like ball now presides over Country Friends Antiques.
This relic of the Space Age is vintage Route 66 and with so much lost, it was a
blessing to see it standing majestically over a new thriving business.
I continued on to Edgewood, a town of many more abandoned relics and many trading posts. This would be my lasty stop before reaching Albuquerque, the first big city I would be seeing in some time. Like the diverse landscapes, people, and climates it crosses, the moods and character of Route 66 were many. After so many days in vanishing towns I was excited for the bustle of the city.
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